Collective Mutants 4: Shadow Dancer
by Rossi
Summary: Karen's life seems perfect, but there are shadows in her past.


[TCP] Collective Mutants: Shadow Dancer.  
By Rossi.  
  
Disclaimer: Mutants are Marvel's, but the rest is mine. The Common  
People were created by Phil Foster and Kielle.  
  
Summary: Fourth story for the Collective Mutants. The previous three  
(Electric Sheep, Madame Butterfly and Fish Out Of Water) can be found  
at Fanfiction.net and at Missy Red X's Average Website. The premises  
is fairly simple: life in an "ordinary" mutant household.  
  
Rating: PG13, for swearing and drug use.  
  
Feedback: Will be appreciated, answered and hoarded for cheering  
myself up when I'm depressed: Rossi@subreality.com  
  
Note: I mention the issue of Aboriginal deaths in custody. Back in the  
1980's, a Royal Commission was held into the appalling number of black  
deaths in jails and police cells. Since the findings, the rate has  
dropped somewhat, but is still far too high, many times higher than  
for whites. Part of this is because Aboriginals are held in custody  
more often than whites. Another is that they are particularly prone to  
committing suicide whilst in custody. Whatever the cause, a lot still  
needs to be done to prevent it.  
  
Dedication: To Maelstrom, who has been a fan of the Collective Mutants  
since the beginning, and has never failed to write long and detailed  
feedback, as well as picking up those accursed typos that manage to  
sneak through two proof reads…  
____________________________________________________  
  
[Long ago, in the Dreamtime, there was a young girl called Brolga who  
loved to dance. She loved dancing so much she would hide and watch the  
men's dances, and learn them. Then one night she was so caught up in  
the music that she joined the men in their dance, which was forbidden.  
But because she was so skilled, she wasn't punished, and soon became  
famous throughout the land…  
  
Many young men wanted to marry Brolga, but she wanted only to dance.  
The young men understood this, and left her alone, but there was one  
evil old magician who would not leave her alone. So Brolga had to stay  
close to camp, where she was protected by her people. One day Brolga  
forgot the warnings of her people, and wandered far away. The magician  
called up a wind to carry her away, but there was a sudden flash of  
light and Brolga disappeared.  
  
When her people came searching for Brolga, they found a large bird  
with long wings. As they watched in amazement, the bird began to  
dance, and they realised the spirits had turned Brolga into the bird  
to protect her from the magician. And since then, the brolga is a bird  
admired for its dancing, and always protected from harm.]  
  
"The Story of Brolga" Northern Australian Dreamtime story.  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
Five mutants and four humans were crammed into the small lounge room  
of 74 Hope Street. The low table held bowls of chips and Twisties,  
bottles of Coke and orange juice and stubbies of beer, aluminium  
containers of houmus and cucumber dip from one of the Turkish places  
in Sydney Road, a large flat loaf of Turkish bread (from the same  
place), and a tray of Allison's special sausage rolls. People were  
crammed onto the old threadbare couch, packed into the one armchair,  
sprawled on the floor, but all facing the battered television in the  
corner and shouting advice and encouragement to James, who was trying  
to get a decent picture out of the static.  
  
"Come on James, the news'll be on soon," Fish managed around a  
mouthful of bread and dip. He'd claimed the best seat (the centre of  
the couch) early by virtue of sitting there as soon as he got home and  
refusing to move for anything.  
  
"I'm doing the best I can," muttered James, his arms and hands half  
merged with the television's electronic components. "'S not my fault  
the bloody thing's so stupid it doesn't understand basic instructions."  
  
"Ignore him, James," Fatimah said from where she was curled up in  
Adrian's lap in the armchair. The sales rep had become something of a  
regular fixture at the house over the six months he had been going out  
with Fatimah. "I'm sure you'll do your best."  
  
"I still think you guys are overdoing things a bit," Karen said. She  
was sitting next to Fish on the couch, trying to avoid Robbo, who had  
fixed on her the moment he'd come through the door. He'd settled for  
the garish purple beanbag from James' room instead when he'd found the  
couch full. "They might not even use it."  
  
"Are you joking? That speech of yours was brilliant, mate!" protested  
the slightly plump girl sitting on the floor in front of Karen. She  
was wearing an odd collection of op shop clothes, and had dyed her  
hair blue. "And the camera was full on you for the whole time."  
  
"Good thing you didn't tell me that at the time, Sam," Karen laughed,  
giving her friend and fellow student activist a poke in the shoulder.  
"I would have choked for sure. Pass us a stubby."  
  
Sam (only called Samantha by officialdom) grabbed a bottle of beer off  
the table. "Nah, you're a professional. Speeches are all you lawyers  
are good for, isn't it?"  
  
"That's it! Stop there, Blue!" Allison directed from the door as she  
came back with some glasses. "The picture's perfect!" She quickly slid  
into the spot Fish had saved her on the couch, ignoring his pretended  
groans as she had to squeeze to fit.  
  
"And just in time too," observed James' fellow engineering student and  
friend, Cynthia Phoung as the ABC news theme started up. "Look,  
there's Karen!" A familiar face flashed across the screen as the  
newsreader read out the headlines.  
  
"…And the streets of Melbourne were brought to a standstill during  
today's tolerance demonstrations…"  
  
"Oh God, I look so stupid!" groaned Karen through laughter as the  
image disappeared, replaced by a thin grey haired man in a charcoal  
grey suit and a reassuring smile. He went on to the lead story, yet  
another instalment of the Sydney Olympics ticketing fiasco.  
  
"I don't think so," Cynthia said earnestly, sipping on her Coke. "I  
think you look like someone worth listening to. I couldn't speak to a  
big crowd of people like that." Her eyes, wide and nervous behind the  
big glasses, gave her the look of a scared rabbit. Cynthia was almost  
painfully shy, and it had taken James a lot of persuasion to get her  
to come to the house for a visit. Like him, she preferred machines to  
people, and despite lacking his mutant gifts, she was his equal when  
it came to electronics. The pair often spent hours in his room, deep  
in circuit boards and other electronic bits and pieces. Fish often  
joked they were trying to take over the world and were building the  
ultimate weapon. "We'll have some superhero group on our doorstep  
asking about those two one day," he often said, and called them the  
Twins of Evil.  
  
"I didn't think I could either, but there I was," Karen laughed. "Once  
I was up there, it was a bit late to back down."  
  
"And Sam here would've had your guts for garters," said Robbo from his  
beanbag. Sam glared at him. There was no love lost between the two,  
Robbo having offended Sam on their first meeting at the house warming  
party held before James had come to the house by saying, after being  
introduced to Sam and her then-girlfriend; "So, you two are lezzos,  
are you? Interested in a threesome?" Besides, Sam didn't like his  
interest in Karen. The only reason they had any contact at all was the  
fact their best friends were housemates.  
  
"Shh, it's starting!" Fatimah admonished as the graphic behind the  
newsreader changed to "Tolerance March" and a shot of the protesters,  
complete with banners.  
  
"…ousands of people marched the streets of Melbourne today to  
highlight the need for tolerance in today's society. Members of many  
different minority groups marched side by side in a show of  
solidarity. The demonstration blocked traffic in the city centre for  
most of the afternoon, as the marchers rallied on the steps of  
Parliament House calling on the Government to increase funding for  
community groups who provide services for many of the city's minority groups."  
  
The scene cut from the marchers themselves to a shot of Karen at a  
makeshift podium on the steps of Parliament. The passion in her voice  
and expression was unmistakable:  
  
"Racism is more than the violence, the slurs and the prejudice. It's  
the difficulty the disabled student faces getting access to classes  
and resources. It's the assumption that all Aboriginal people receive  
some kind of Government benefit, and that migrants are taking our  
jobs. It's refusing to hire the young woman most qualified for the job  
because she might get pregnant. It's not wanting to shake hands with a  
gay person because you might get AIDS. And it's the jokes about how  
many mutants it takes to change a light bulb."  
  
The newsreader continued. "Many of the protesters were mutants  
protesting the recent laws passed concerning the registration of  
mutants with dangerous powers…"  
  
"Protesting _against_!" Sam the English major yelled at the screen.  
  
"Too bloody right we should protest," Allison grumbled. "Bloody fascists."  
  
"Shh, there's Karen again!" James said from his sprawl on the floor in  
front of the TV. Sure enough, there was Karen again, this time shadows  
flickering and dancing around her as she used her powers to punctuate  
her speech.  
  
"We mutants are more than our powers. We are your sons and daughters,  
your mothers and fathers, your neighbours and students and workmates.  
We are the people you pass down the street and we are the blokes in  
the pub. We are everywhere, and we are normal everyday Australians.  
And we pose no more threat to the community than the next person. Our  
powers should be an asset to our community, not a threat."  
  
"Whoo hoo, way to go, Kaz!" cheered Fish. Karen blushed crimson and  
tried to hide under a cushion, and Allison whacked Fish into silence  
with another.  
  
"Nice bit of rhetoric, even if I say so myself," said Sam smugly: that  
part had been hers.  
  
"Shh!" Fatimah hissed sternly. "I can't hear!" The TV showed the  
newsreader again.  
  
"…oria's Premier, Jeff Kennett, said in response to the march that the  
new mutant registration laws were here to stay."  
  
The entire group booed as Jeff Kennett appeared, speaking into a  
circle of microphones and mini tape recorders.  
  
"What the mutant community has to understand is that it owes a  
responsibility to society to keep our streets safe. Some of these  
so-called "powers" are destructive on a massive scale, and the  
ordinary population has the right to know if such a person is living  
in their area."  
  
"Saves the FOH time looking for targets," muttered Karen darkly,  
scowling at the screen.  
  
"Just as guns are registered because they are dangerous, so too should  
mutants whose powers can pose a threat to life and property. This is  
why this Bill has been passed by your democratically elected Government…"  
  
Anything else Victoria's esteemed Premier had to say on the subject  
was drowned out by jeers and abuse and showers of chips and Twisties.  
The noise was so loud as the segment ended and another started they  
almost missed the ringing of the phone.  
  
"I'll get it," James offered, already hacking into the phone line with  
the circuitry of his bare left foot, slithering across the room and  
under the baseboard. "Hello? Oh, hi Mrs. Ferguson. How're things?" A  
pause. "Oh, I'll just get her." James looked over at Allison and said  
needlessly, "It's your Mum."  
  
Allison was already on her feet and half-way down the hall. "Got it!"  
she called, and James retracted the circuitry. Her voice carried  
easily down the hall. "Hi, Mum! Did you see Karen on the news?" There  
was a long silence, and then Allison spoke again, almost too softly to  
be heard. "What happened? Is he all right?" Another pause, longer this  
time. "It's just past seven now- there'll be a train from Spencer  
Street in a couple of hours. I'll catch that. Can David pick me up  
from the station? Good. Don't worry, Mum, he's as tough as old boots.  
I'll be there as soon as I can." Silence, and then in a quiet voice:  
"Love you too, Mum."  
  
"What is it?" Fish asked as soon as Allison came back into the lounge,  
her face pale and shocked. "Did something happen?"  
  
"It's Dad," Allison said in a strangely distant voice. "He's been  
taken to hospital."."  
  
"Oh my God, Ali! Is he okay?" Karen jumped off the couch to take her  
friend's arm.  
  
"Mum says…" Allison drew in a deep shuddering breath, and when she  
next spoke, her voice was more normal. "Mum says they think he's had a  
minor heart attack, but he'll recover. But she'd going to need help  
with the farm."  
  
"I can drive you," Robbo offered, despite the beer in his hand.  
Allison gave him a faint smile before answering.  
  
"It's a four hour drive, Robbo. Thanks for the offer, but there's a  
train I can catch. Lay off the beer and you can give me a lift to the  
station but."  
  
"I'll help you pack," offered Karen, leading Allison out of the lounge  
and up the stairs. "Do you know how long you'll be?"  
  
"No idea. As long as Mum needs me, I s'pose."  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
Subject: Re: Update from the Ferguson Place.  
To: "Allison" fergusonfarm@onenet.com.au  
From: Brolga@yahoo.com  
Date: 15 September, 1999. 4:55 PM.  
  
Hey, Ali! Great to hear you got up there okay and that your Dad is  
recovering well. Not long before he's out of hospital and driving you  
all nuts again, hey? Give him and your Mum and David our best wishes…   
  
My family's asked me to help sort out my cousin Matthew. He's been  
running a bit wild, getting into trouble with the law. He's quit  
school, so I've found a job for him, to keep him out of strife. I have  
a friend who runs a cafe who was looking for a dishwasher- hopefully  
that will suit him.  
  
The place doesn't seem the same without you. Even Fish is moping  
around, looking like he's lost his best friend. Hasn't been down the  
pub for the two weeks you've been away- must be some sort of record.  
James and Cynthia are trying to build a bird scarer to keep the mynah  
birds out of the eaves. You remember how much they screeched last  
Spring? Well, they're back, twice as bad, and driving James insane,  
waking him at dawn every morning. He and Cyn reckon if they get the  
right sound frequency it'll scare only the mynahs off, and leave the  
magpies you were feeding last year. Yes, they're back too.   
  
Well, should go, I've got a lecture in fifteen minutes and then I'm  
going down to the Koori Centre to see my Teacher. Take care, mate, Karen.  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
"Teacher," asked Karen, respectfully avoiding making eye contact with  
her mentor. "The things you've been teaching me lately; they're men's  
business, aren't they?"  
  
"They are, child."  
  
"But…"  
  
"You're wondering why I'm teaching you things that I shouldn't?"  
  
"The thought did strike me, Teacher."  
  
Leathery gnarled hands moved to pat Karen's shoulder, to smooth the  
hair away from her face. "Old Man" Joe was nearing eighty, and his  
eyesight was nearly gone. But despite the cataracts clouding his  
vision, his mind was as sharp as ever, and he was respected throughout  
the Aboriginal community for his knowledge of the old ways and lore.  
When he had chosen young Karen Perkins as his student, there had been  
some mutterings, but everyone had bowed to the Old Man's wisdom.  
  
"One of these days soon, Karen, I'm going to die." Karen opened her  
mouth to make the usual denials, but he waved her into silence. "No  
point ignoring it, it's true. I've known for the last thirty years  
that I needed someone to take over from me when I'm gone, to lead our  
people and teach them the old ways and stories. So I chose myself an  
apprentice, a clever young fella, full of promise. He learned the  
songs and stories well, and what's more important, he thought about  
what he could do to help our people. You know who I'm talking about,  
don't you, Karen?"  
  
Karen nodded silently. Neither of them could say his name- it was  
taboo to speak the names of the dead- but she had been brought up on  
stories of her father and how he had been considered the community's  
best chance of improving things.   
  
"When we lost him, we lost more than another one of our young folk. We  
lost our hope. Even me. I couldn't even think of taking on a new  
apprentice, even though I knew I should. Then one night the spirits  
came to me and told me to remember the story of Brolga."  
  
"She learned forbidden lore, but because she was so good at dancing,  
they didn't punish her," Karen said, understanding at once. Brolga was  
her personal totem. Old Man Joe nodded.  
  
"I found my Brolga when she was just a little thing, with her father's  
cleverness and questions. You have the white man's learning in your  
head, and the spirit of our people in your heart. And when you turned  
out to be a mutant as well, I knew I hadn't chosen wrong. You're  
gifted, Karen, the same way Brolga was, and you're going to use those  
gifts to make things better for us."  
  
Karen swallowed uncomfortably. It was always difficult for her when  
her Teacher went on this way, as if she was the next Messiah, but she  
had too much respect for him to contradict him. So she simply nodded  
and waited for the subject to change.  
  
Later, as she was chatting with a group of older women and making some  
tea for Old Man Joe, Karen spotted a skinny boy in the corner of the  
community hall, talking with some other teenagers. They were all  
dressed similarly in faded jeans and black band t-shirts or  
flannelette shirts, and wore that particularly teenaged male  
expression of hostile boredom.  
  
"Matt!" she called cheerfully. Matt muttered something to his friends  
and there was a brief ripple of low laughter, cut off as she joined them.  
  
"Cousin," he said with a brief nod. Karen ignored his brusqueness,  
putting it down to him being embarrassed in front of his friends.  
  
"How's the job going?" she asked anyway.  
  
"All right. Pay's okay, an' your friend doesn't hassle too much." Matt  
gave a shrug. "S' all right for now."  
  
"Good." Karen paused, momentarily lost for words, an unusual condition  
for her. "I'll see you 'round then," she said at last.  
  
"All right." Matt and his friends slouched towards the door, another  
smatter of that somehow-unpleasant laughter following. Karen frowned  
as she returned to the kitchen area.  
  
"You'd better keep an eye on that young bloke, Karen. He's bad news,  
he is," said one of the women, a large generous figure in a brightly  
patterned cotton dress.  
  
"How do you mean, Auntie?" asked Karen. Gert wasn't really her aunt,  
it was just a title all older women had, just as all older men were "Uncle".  
  
"Just you keep an eye on him, that's all." Gert refused to be drawn  
any further, and the talk turned to Karen's recent television appearance.  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
Subject: Re: Greetings, fellow mutant!  
To: "InspectorGadget" GeordieLaForge@geekmail.com.au  
From: fergusonfarm@onenet.com.au  
Date: 18 September, 1999. 8.03 PM.  
  
Thanks for the e-mail, Blue. It was a real treat, especially after  
spending the day rounding up and checking the pregnant ewes. By the  
end of the week we'll be knee-deep in baby baa-lambs. I'd forgotten  
how much work there is at lambing time- guess I've gotten soft living  
down there in the Big Smoke. Or at least that's what David says.  
  
Sounds like you're all keeping busy- don't miss me or anything, will  
you? No, seriously, I hope to be back in a month or so. Dad's doing a  
lot better, even if he is an old grouch and spends most of his 'rest'  
time checking up on David and me.   
  
It's good to hear you got the bird scarer working- Mum says could you  
make one for her to keep the parrots out of her fruit trees. Speaking  
of Mum, I'd better go: I still need to do the dishes and fill up her  
wood box before I go to bed. Keep an eye on Kaz for me, hey? It sounds  
like she's taking on too much again, and this thing with her cousin  
has put the wind up me. I've only met him once, and he was a little  
shit back then.  
  
Love to all,  
Allison.  
____________________________________________________  
  
"Typical Fish. He's late again," complained James, looking at his  
watch yet again. "We'll miss the start of the movie."  
  
"He's probably just been caught up," suggested Fatimah, patting his  
arm. She didn't seem to notice how James blushed as red as his hair at  
the touch. Karen did, and sighed internally. Years of shared  
accommodation had taught her crushes on housemates were usually fatal  
for the household. She'd have to have a word with him later about it.  
  
"If he doesn't get here soon…" fretted James, with another glance at  
his watch and then at the queue in front of the cinema's ticket counter.  
  
"How about you two get the tickets and I'll wait out here for Fish?"  
Karen suggested, as much to get James out of the way as anything. She  
handed him twenty dollars and her student card. "That should cover  
both of us. That way we don't waste time when he does turn up."  
  
"A wonderful idea, Karen!" beamed Fatimah. She grabbed James' arm and  
dragged him inside. As the most obvious mutant, standing on Russell  
Street in the city centre on a busy Friday night had been getting on  
her nerves: too many stares and shocked expressions. Karen leaned  
against a nearby parking sign pole and scanned the crowds for a  
familiar sandy head.  
  
"…mutants. See 'em?"  
  
"Where? Oh, you mean the butterfly girl and the geek."  
  
"When I was a kid, I useta pull the wings off butterflies." There was  
an ugly ribband of laughter. Karen frowned as the remarks registered  
on her consciousness. She glanced over at the small group of teenaged  
boys lounging on a bench outside the cinema. There was no doubt as to  
who they were looking at. James was laughing at something Fatimah had  
said, and trying to untangle his wallet from a strand of circuitry  
that had invaded his jeans pocket through a hole in the bottom.  
  
"Makes you sick, seein' 'em walkin' round like they were th' same as  
us." The young voice was so full of hate Karen winced to hear it. It  
was the boy who had spoken first, his dirty blond hair hanging in his  
face and denim jacket covered in symbols and messages of hate he'd  
written himself in black Texta.  
  
"They could have this Legacy plague for all we know," agreed another,  
a fragile-looking Asian boy wearing a death metal shirt with a rotting  
corpse on it. "They should be locked up."  
  
"Put down like animals," said the third, the one who had spoken of  
pulling wings off butterflies. He had his back to Karen, and all she  
could see were his dread-locked head and flannelette shirt.  
  
'That does it,' she thought, and straightened, intending to give the  
three a piece of her mind. However, as she did, the last speaker  
turned and looked her full in the face.  
  
"I reckon we should kill 'em all," her cousin Matthew said, with a  
sneer. Stunned, Karen barely registered Fish grabbing her arm,  
apologising for a late-running tutorial, steering her into the light  
and heat and the smell of popcorn. All Karen could see was the cold  
amusement in Matthew's eyes that were so much like her own.  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
Subject: News from civilisation…  
To: "Allison" fergusonfarm@onenet.com.au  
From: "Fish" RaphG3751@med.unimelb.edu.au  
Date: 21 September, 1999. 10:34 AM.  
  
G'day Ali mate! How's it hanging? You'll be pleased to know we're all  
pining away for you here. Even the Fairy's wings are drooping for you.  
Or maybe for Adrian- he's off to Sydney again this week. The place  
just isn't the same lately. Kaz is acting weird- we went to see the  
new Austin Powers film the other night, and she barely cracked a smile  
through the whole thing, while Jim and the Fairy and I were pissing  
ourselves laughing. Not even my jokes later about the Evil Twins  
making a mini-Jim raised a grin. She says nothing's wrong, but I tell  
ya, Ali, we could do with your no-crap attitude at the moment…  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
It had taken her three days of thinking, but Karen had finally decided  
what to do about Matthew. She gave a decisive nod as she opened the  
front gate. As soon as she got in, she would call him. There were  
weeds sprouting merrily in the flower beds, and Karen paused to pull  
out the worst offenders with an energetic twist. After she spoke to  
Matt, she'd come back out and do it properly. It was a little  
unsettling how quickly the house was forgetting Allison- not the  
people, but the building itself. Even her things, gathering dust in  
their shared room, were taking on an anonymous look. And the kitchen…  
  
The shrill ringing of the phone scattered her thoughts. Karen bounded  
up the front steps and unlocked the door, counting the rings before  
the answering machine kicked in. She caught it with two to spare.  
  
"Karen? I'm glad I caught you." It was Manuela, the friend who owned  
the coffee shop that had taken on Matt. Her son was a mutant, and  
Karen had put him onto the same training course Allison had done to  
control her powers. Normally there was a hint of laughter in her  
voice, as if she found everything so joyous she couldn't restrain her  
enthusiasm. Today she sounded serious, almost sombre.  
  
"What's wrong?" Sweat made Karen's palms suddenly slippery. "It's  
Matt, isn't it?"  
  
"Karen, you're my friend, and I tried my best to help him, but some  
people just won't be helped." Manuela sounded genuinely regretful.  
"He's been stealing from the shop."  
  
"How do you mean? Has he been taking food?" A stupid question, Karen  
knew, but she was grasping at straws, still hoping to find some good  
in her cousin.  
  
"It started that way, yes, and I turned a blind eye because he looked  
like he needed it, you know? But then money started disappearing from  
the tip jar, and then it was the till…"  
  
"But how do you know it was Matt? It could have been anyone."  
Disappointment made Karen's tone sharper than she'd intended.  
  
"The rest of my staff have been with me for years. They're like  
family. They would never steal from me," Manuela said with hurt  
dignity. "And I caught him with his hand in the till myself last night."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I had to sack him. I won't bother the police with this, because he's  
your cousin, but I won't have him back in my shop."  
  
"Of course, Manuela, I'm so sorry for all this. What about the money?  
I'll make him give it back."  
  
Manuela laughed, but it wasn't her usual happy laugh.  
  
"I'm afraid my money is long gone, Karen. Best you ask yourself why he  
took it."  
  
Karen's hands were shaking as she put the phone down. She felt so  
responsible: it had been at her insistence that Matt had been hired.  
She'd been warned about him, but she had thought she knew best. And  
his remarks at the cinema couldn't go unaddressed. Perhaps Old Man Joe  
could advise her…  
  
There was a scrape of a chair in the kitchen. Someone else was home.  
Someone she could talk to, a sympathetic ear, who could help put this  
whole thing in perspective. With a small smile smoothing the crease of  
worry between her eyebrows, Karen padded down the hall in silent bare feet.  
  
She wasn't sure what shocked her more, the sight of Matt slumped at  
the kitchen table, needle clutched in his hand and his belt cinched  
around his arm, or the broken back window through which he'd gotten  
in. His smile at her was slow and lazy, his eyes glazed, the pupils  
mere specks in the brown.  
  
"Hey, it's my mutie do-gooder cousin! Wanna party, Kazza?" The malice  
lacing the words sent a shiver down Karen's spine.  
  
"I just spoke to Manuela. She says you stole from her." Matt made a  
school-boy's face of contrition.  
  
"Oo-oo, I'm in trouble now, aren't I?" he giggled, and then raised the  
needle in a toast. "To Manuela shoving her shitty job up her arse!"  
  
"You're damn lucky she didn't call the cops." Karen resisted the urge  
to snatch the syringe away. "You're a common thief. And a burglar now  
too. I should call them myself."  
  
"And lag on your own blood?" Matt sneered. "There's no way you'd ever  
do that, because you know how I'd end up." He pantomimed holding a  
rope over his head and pulled a grotesque face, head lolling, tongue protruding.  
  
"That's sick!" Karen shouted. "Stop it now, Matt!"  
  
"Don't like the truth, cousin?" Matt jeered. "That's what happens,  
isn't it? Blackfellas like me dying in cells? Runs in the family,  
don't it?"  
  
"Don't you dare!" hissed Karen, paling.  
  
"Scored a point, did I?" Matt licked his finger and drew a line in the  
air. His expression was positively gleeful. "Hit a nerve? Little mutie  
girl trying to fill her dead daddy's shoes, learning the things she's  
not supposed to? You really think the people will listen to you, with  
your white man's education and your trendy totem tattoo? Old Man Joe  
only picked you cause your Dad wasted himself in a police cell, just  
like any 'common thief'."  
  
Karen couldn't take the tirade any more. She slapped him across the  
face as hard as she could, the shadows in the room rising up behind  
her in a black wave. Matt just nodded in satisfaction.   
  
"You'll get yours, freak." He was about to say more, but there was the  
welcome sound of the key in the lock, and Fish coming in from gym,  
complaining about psychotic Volvo drivers. Matt reached out and tapped  
Karen on the cheek, repeating in a softer voice, "You'll get yours,"  
before heading out the back door and over the fence, the way he'd  
come. Shaking like a leaf, Karen let herself fold up, a slow motion  
collapse onto a chair. Fish took in the broken window, the syringe and  
dirty spoon on the table, his shocked housemate at a glance.  
  
"Shit, Kaz," he said at last. "What the hell happened?"  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
"Little prick's bloody well cleaned out the kitty," Fish growled,  
dropping the empty Milo tin on the table with a hollow clang. "He  
probably went through our rooms too."  
  
"So why not call the police? Report him?" asked Fatimah with a  
shudder. "We know it was him."  
  
"Kaz doesn't want us to. He might be a complete fuckhead, but he's  
still her cousin. Even if he frightened the hell out of her." He ran  
his hand through his thick sandy hair, making it stick up wildly. "I  
wish Ali were here."  
  
"She's all right, isn't she?" James asked anxiously. The three of them  
were having an emergency house meeting in the kitchen. James and  
Fatimah had come home to find Karen sobbing in Fish's arms. James had  
taped some cardboard over the window and cleaned up the glass while  
Fatimah and Fish had comforted Karen and put her to bed, Fatimah  
giving her friend two small white pills.  
  
"Sleeping tablets," she had said in response to Fish's quizzical look.  
"The doctor gave to me after my father's last visit." Her tone didn't  
invite questions.  
  
The syringe Fish had put in an empty plastic container, intending to  
take it to the closest sharps disposal bin later.  
  
"He didn't hurt her, if that's what you mean," Fish said with a sigh.  
"He upset her pretty badly though, and we know what that means."  
Fatimah nodded sadly in agreement.  
  
"We do?" asked James, but before anyone could say anything else, there  
was a crash and an unearthly bubbling wail from upstairs.  
  
"Looks like you're going to find out," Fish said, as they headed for  
Karen's room. "I _really_ wish Ali was here."  
  
Not even his copious watching of science-fiction movies could have  
prepared James for the sight that greeted them. The room Karen shared  
with Allison was full of madly-flickering shadows, swirling around the  
room in their own mad dance. The crash had come from Karen knocking  
over the milk crate she used as a bedside table as she had retreated  
to the corner of the room in a blind panic. Now she was rocking  
herself, making that terrible keening sound as her powers went out of  
control. Her three housemates stood in the doorway, unsure of what to  
do next.  
  
"Those tablets should have kept her asleep for hours…" Fatimah began,  
her voice high and trembling.  
  
"Bloody mutant metabolism," muttered Fish.  
  
"Why not go in?" James asked, "They're only shadows." As if in reply,  
a giant many-fingered hand reached out towards them, caressing James'  
face with a chill touch. He recoiled with an inarticulate cry.  
  
"That answer your question?" Fish grimaced at the shadow-filled room.  
"Karen told me once she volunteered for a study into mutant powers.  
They did all sorts of tests on her, but they couldn't figure out just  
what it is she does with shadows. Most of the time she just plays with  
them, makes pictures. When she loses control, well, you see what it's  
like. Allison's the only one who can get near her when she's like  
this: the shadows don't like fire or heat or something."  
  
"This has happened before?" James could still feel the icy touch on  
his face. It was like some sort of ghostly visitation.  
  
"Only once while I was here," Fish replied. It wasn't difficult to  
sense his impatience: here was a person in need, and he couldn't get  
to her. "After her mother died."  
  
"That was awful," Fatimah whispered. "I was so scared for her… I  
thought she would go mad."   
  
"So what do we do?"  
  
"The only thing we _can_ do. Wait."  
  
They were silent after that, watching the shadows twist and spin.  
Images formed, contorted, fragmented, and reformed. After a while,  
James realised there was a recurring theme to the nightmarish pictures.  
  
"It's a man, hanging from a barred window…" he said quietly, more to  
himself than anyone else. Fish looked at him oddly, but Fatimah  
nodded, her small hand creeping into his. It was cold and faintly trembling.  
  
"It's her father," she said simply. "When Karen was just a little  
girl, he was arrested for public drunkenness and placed in a police  
cell overnight." A tear trickled down her face. "They found him the  
next morning, hanging from a noose made out of his sheet."  
  
"I didn't know that." Fish sounded a little hurt, as if they'd been  
keeping secrets from him. Fatimah reached over with her other hand to  
pat his arm.  
  
"She told me about it not long after I moved here, before your time.  
She asked me not to tell anyone: Allison is the only other one who  
knows." Abruptly, James yanked his hand from hers. "James?"  
  
"I've got an idea," he said. "You said something about heat working on  
these things? Well, I think I know how to get to her." He grinned  
faintly. "Stand back, this is going to be pretty gross."  
  
"What are you going to do, Jim? Turn yourself into a giant bar  
heater?" asked Fish doubtfully. James' grin widened.  
  
"Something like that."  
  
In the nine months James had lived at Hope Street, his control over  
his power had improved markedly. The circuitry creeping over his skin  
had retreated to the point where he could wear short sleeves again  
without being stared at. He rarely fused himself to the furniture any  
more. And no-one in the house had ever seen what he did next.  
  
James let his control go.  
  
Black and silver lines swarmed over him, running down his arms and  
legs, encompassing his Star Trek shirt ("Beam me up Scotty, there's no  
intelligent life down here!") and jeans, creeping up his neck and over  
his face. When he opened his eyes, their blue had been usurped by  
silver. His voice, when he spoke, was flat and mechanical.  
  
"Get away from the door and don't touch me." Wordlessly Fish pulled  
Fatimah away from the doorway. James extended one circuit-encased hand  
towards the light switch, tendrils of bio-circuitry insinuating  
themselves under the plastic and into the wiring. His body jerked as  
the current hit, and the watching pair could see the electronics  
multiplying even faster. By now there was a barely a trace of humanity  
as the metal in the circuitry began to heat up.  
  
"He's using himself as a bloody conductor," Fish breathed in amazement.  
  
"He won't be hurt, will he?" asked Fatimah anxiously, hardly able to watch.  
  
"I have no idea. And I don't think he knows either. But it seems to be  
working." Slowly, like a deep sea diver, James began crossing the  
bedroom, reeling out circuitry behind him, the light switch acting as  
both heat source and anchor. Karen's shadows hesitated before  
shrinking away from him with an almost audible sizzle. Smoke started  
rising in small coils as circuits overloaded, and the lights in the  
hallway dimmed alarmingly.   
  
"Let's hope he doesn't blow the fuses," Fish said, frowning. "The  
fucking shadows would have the run of the house."  
  
"Don't swear," Fatimah admonished faintly, her eyes round like a small  
child's as she watched James' slow-motion rescue. He'd finally reached  
Karen, and was struggling to pull back the circuitry from his other  
hand, knowing if he touched Karen as he was there was a good chance of  
electrocuting her. The circuitry had other ideas, however; once free,  
it had no intention of being put back. James gritted his teeth,  
tasting silicon, and forced it back until he looked as if he was  
wearing a skin-covered glove. He reached out and touched Karen's  
shoulder. Immediately the keening, which had been growing steadily  
hoarser, stopped.  
  
"Karen." James winced at the sound of his voice. It was worse than the  
speech program on his computer. "Karen, it's James. You've got to stop this."  
  
Karen shuddered as if the current running through James had leapt into  
her. When she opened her eyes, the shadows instantly returned to  
normal. With a silent sigh of relief, James pulled out of the light  
switch. Things had been getting a bit hot.  
  
"J-james?" Karen hiccoughed, smearing tears across her face with the  
back of her hands. "What happened?"   
  
"A nightmare," Fatimah answered, already at her side with a damp  
cloth, wiping her face. "A bad dream, that's all."  
  
'That's one way of putting it,' thought James wryly. The room was full  
of the tang of burnt plastic and overheated metal, and he was not  
looking forward to trying to retract the layers of wiring he was  
encased in. He stepped back as Fish joined Fatimah, making sure Karen  
was all right before turning to James.  
  
"You're a bloody hero, Jim. Thanks," he said. Then he added with a  
grin: "But you're paying the electricity bill this month after that stunt."  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
"Hello, Ferguson's. Peter speaking."  
  
"Hi, Mr F. It's Karen. How are you?"  
  
"You know me, Karen, tough as old boots. I'll be back on my feet in no  
time. I suppose you'll be wanting to speak to Allison."  
  
"Is she there?"  
  
"Just come in. I've got to tell you, Karen, that training you got her  
onto has worked marvels. You should have seen her keeping the orphan  
lambs warm during that cold spell a couple of weeks back. She's better  
than the old stove. More mobile too. ALLISON! PHONE! Here she is,  
love. When are you going to visit us again?"  
  
"Probably around Christmas, Mr F, if that's okay."  
  
"No problems here. Take care."  
  
"Bye, Mr F."  
  
Rustle bang clunk thud.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Ali!"  
  
"Karen! How are you? Fish and Blue sent me e-mails saying what  
happened with Matthew…"  
  
"I'm such an idiot, Ali. Anyone could have seen Matt was a druggie.  
And a racist creep."  
  
"It's not your fault. You were trying to help him."  
  
"And all those things he said… God, Ali, I've spent years trying to  
forget that stuff, and he dragged it up again for the fun of it. Well,  
that's it. I'm not helping anyone again. Ever. No, seriously, stop laughing!"  
  
"Karen, the only way you would stop helping people was if you were  
dead. It's your nature to want to help people."  
  
"And look where it gets me."  
  
"Yeah, look where it gets you. You've got four housemates who'll stick  
by you no matter what, and whose lives are a hell of a lot easier  
because you helped them when no-one else would. You've got a community  
that is proud of you, and supports you in everything you do, because  
you do your best for them. You've been part of creating services for  
mutants at the uni, because you want to help them, and you've outed  
yourself in public for the same reason. Just because someone doesn't  
want to be helped doesn't mean you haven't achieved anything. Stop  
being so self-pitying."  
  
"Great pep talk, Ali, right up to the last bit. You should be in  
sports psychology."  
  
"You must be feeling better. You're being sarcastic."  
  
"Watch it, Ferguson, or I'll find another roommate."  
  
"No-one else would put up with your snoring."  
  
"Very funny. When are you coming back?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I was hoping November, but Dad had a setback. But I'll  
definitely be there for New Year's. Are you coming up for Christmas as usual?"  
  
"If your folks don't mind."  
  
"They won't. You're flavour of the month up here now I've got control  
over my powers. They might even let me stay during bushfire season."  
  
"That's all up to you. I had nothing to do with it."  
  
"Yeah, well you know my folks. Still don't really trust me. Shit, I'd  
better go, this will be costing you a fortune."  
  
"Tell me about it. Take care, Ali."  
  
"You too. Keep out of trouble, okay?"  
  
"Me? Never. Bye, Ali."  
  
"See ya, Kaz."  
  
  
The End.  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
Glossary:  
  
Twisties: Hmm, how to describe Twisties? Sort of snacky nibbly things,  
they're of cheesy or chickeny tastiness. Basically, you eat them.  
  
Stubby: Small brown bottle of beer. Holds about 375ml, and has a  
twist-off top.  
  
Houmus: Dip made out of chickpeas, among other things. Great with  
Turkish bread.  
  
Choked: to fail at something, especially after a big build-up. Think  
Greg Norman at golf.  
  
ABC: Australian Broadcasting Commission. The non-commercial television  
network, with the least biased news program, decent Australian shows  
and weird British comedy.  
  
Lezzo: short for lesbian, Not very polite.  
  
Jeff Kennett: _Former_ Victorian Premier (I still can't believe he's  
gone!) Complete fascist and utter bastard.  
  
Spencer Street: The country and interstate rail train station.  
  
Mynah bird: Highly irritating introduced species that builds nests  
under your eaves and screeches outside your window at 5am.  
  
Koori: PC word for Aboriginal. Technically only applies to communities  
in certain areas, but is used to mean Aboriginals in general.  
  
Men's business: Koori secret lore is generally divided into Women's  
Business and Men's Business. Usually it's taboo to teach either to the  
other sex. I'm taking a huge liberty here.  
  
Blue: traditional country nickname for red-heads.  
  
Big Smoke: Country expression for cities.  
  
"Put the wind up": to put someone on their guard, make them suspicious.  
  
Texta: Aussie for marker.  
  
Volvo drivers: are indeed evil. Ask any cyclist.  
  
Milo: chocolate drink mix. Comes in handy-sized tins.  
  
Sharps bin: bins provided for the safe disposal of syringes. 


End file.
